


Ladybug of Steel

by PennanInque



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Chat Noir is coming, DISCONTINUED DUE TO LACK OF INTEREST, F/M, Marinette knows Adrien loves Ladybug, Powers but no kwamis, Superman AU, all pairings will be included, but oh look there is some steam too, powers bestowed not inherent, so much pining, they work at a newspaper
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-09
Updated: 2016-03-09
Packaged: 2018-05-25 19:15:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6207193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PennanInque/pseuds/PennanInque
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What’s my name?” she asked, her voice cold.<br/>He frowned. “A name isn’t who you are.”<br/>“The woman attached to it is,” she said. “And she isn’t Ladybug.”</p><p>The Superman AU that no one knew they wanted until now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ladybug of Steel

**Author's Note:**

> Bunches of Adrinette and Ladrien in this chapter. Bless.

Marinette pushed her glasses higher on her nose as the red-orange digital numbers on the elevator’s readout steadily climbed. The lenses weren’t corrective, nor did she have any astigmatisms that needed amending, but they offered her a sense of camouflage, however meager. There wasn’t much she could change about her appearance in her day to day life, since the hustle and bustle of her work demanded pulled-back hair and her sensitive skin did not allow for a multitude of cosmetics to conceal her visage, so she made do with the thick-rimmed eyewear. Beggars couldn’t be choosers and it was glasses or nothing.

And it appeared as if they worked. Her secret identity continued to remain in tact.

Of course she didn’t give the glasses all the credit. Human nature had hidden her well. Naturally, her friends and coworkers had commented on her likeness to a certain superhero, but jokes and laughs and “Me? Ladybug? Oh my god, can you imagine?” dissuaded any real suspicion. No one was really ready to believe that normal, plain-Jane Marinette was the infamous Ladybug, protector of Paris. Denial was the true cloak of invisibility.

The elevator dinged at her floor and the doors slid away to reveal the typical chaotic hubbub of the _L_ ’ _Enquirer_ office. Voices hummed together into a drone, punctuated by the rhythmic clacking of fingers on keyboards and the pitched ringing of phones.

Marinette sauntered out of the elevator and weaved through the cubicles, waving to a few coworkers who paused their work to smile and greet her before dipping their heads back down to expositions and interviews. Her own desk was along the back wall by the windows. It was a spacious workspace lit by the sunshine streaming in through the slits in the blinds and had been given to her as a favor by her childhood friend and boss.

The moment she unloaded her satchel from her shoulder and set it on the hard surface of his desk was the moment Adrien Agreste scuttled by, arms full of fluttering papers that marked a trail behind him.

“Hey Marinette,” he said as he zoomed passed her. “’Morning.” 

“Hold it, Adrien!” she said and reached down to collect the pages he had lost. “You’re missing some things.”

He peeked over his paper stack and noticed his lost documents. “Of course,” he mumbled. Sighing, he knelt to the floor and set down his less-than-stable pile.

Marinette handed him his pages. “Busy morning?”

He beamed at her. “Ladybug stopped a robbery last night. I’m hurrying to get something ready for print. I worked through the night, but it’s still not quite done.” He took the papers and offered her that white-toothed smile that always managed to melt her insides. “Thanks Marinette.”

“Yeah,” she said a little dreamily. “No problem.”

“I’ve got to get back to work,” he said, picking his stack back up and getting to his feet. “I’ll send you a copy of the article when it’s done! See you!”

Marinette stared a bit too long at his retreating form before remembering to pick herself up from the floor. She meandered back to her cubicle and set up her station in a wistful daze, opening documents on her computer and flipping through her notebook distractedly. The blank, blinking curser on her screen flashed patiently, waiting for her to write something, _anything_ , but her eyes once again flitted back to Adrien’s desk a few cubicles down.

Her crush on Adrien wasn’t exactly what one would call healthy. She had an almost unnatural obsession with him. Since that very first day when Alya brought her to the _L_ ’ _Enquirer,_ both a courtesy to a friend and a way to spice up the fashion section of the paper, she’d been smitten. Of course it hadn’t just been the gorgeous model exterior (and he _had_ been a model before turning to journalism), the man was also blessed with the kindest heart she knew. He was polite and gentle and always managed to greet her every day without fail. And he was _talented_. His articles and editorials were one of the most popular in the paper. There was only so much dignity a woman could keep in such close proximity to such a golden boy.

The drawback was his own obsession. Just as she pined for Adrien, Adrien pined for Ladybug. At first she thought he only admired her, marveled in her superhuman powers and vigilante deeds. It was normal to idolize heroes. It was expected to want to know more about them. But then she noticed the glimmer in his eye, that soft smile and the pink blush on his cheeks every time Ladybug was brought up in conversation, and she knew that his affections for her went beyond that of a reporter with hero-worship.

And therein lay the cruel irony. 

The man she had feelings for returned those feelings… but to a version of her that had been glorified and idolized to the point of unrecognition. Of course she had powers and held that certain kind of strength needed to fight villains, but she’d become generalized, stripped down to her barest form. No one really knew her. No one knew her temperament, how she could be goaded into a fight or how easily irritated she got with biases and rude behavior. No one had insight into her feelings of inadequacy when she failed or the hollow, bittersweet feeling that came with each victorious battle. No one even knew her favourite colour. She was so much more than just justice and foiling bad guys. No one could accept that a hero like Ladybug could also be a human like Marinette.

And so she let Adrien yearn in ignorance and hoped that one day he would know her. Both sides of her. Her daydreams had him falling for Marinette and realizing the similarities between her and Paris’ savoir, stitching the two identities together with awe and joy at the revelation. It was _technically_ in the realm of the possible. So she waited, optimistic and patient, resolved to let things fall where they may because she knew it was better to sigh in infatuation than in anguish over an empty relationship.

* * *

 

She met with Alya in the breakroom for lunch. They sat at the large rectangular table in the center of the room, food spread out in front of them as they lazed in the chairs and chatted between mouthfuls. They sipped coffee brewed from the company Keurig on the counter by the fridge that had been bought by Alya and labeled as a company asset, for which she had been highly praised for.

“I’m trying to score you tickets to the fashion show next week,” Alya said casually, taking a bite of her tuna-salad sandwich. Marinette wrinkled her nose at the fishy smell for the sixth time before the words registered.

Her jaw went slack. “Are you serious?”

“Of course, girl,” she said with a smirk. “Your articles have gotten great ratings and it’d be a huge event for the paper to cover.”

“I would die!” Marinette squealed in excitement. “Alya, this is incredible!”

Alya’s smile dropped a fraction. “Hey now, I don’t actually have them yet. I’m still waiting on a reply.”

“Still,” she smiled. “I can’t believe you’re trying. It means so much to me. Thank you.”

Marinette stood and rounded Alya’s chair to encircle her arms around her friend’s neck. She bumped their heads together affectionately and tightened her embrace to squeeze for a second, giving an enthusiastic hum to emphasize the moment. Alya laughed and pat the arm draped across her collar.

“Am I interrupting something?”

Marinette straightened and her head whipped toward the doorway where Adrien stood, leaning his shoulder against the jamb and grinning at the scene before him. She retracted her arms a fraction too hastily.

“Just some friendly inter-office hugging,” Alya said with a knowing smirk, looking pointedly from Marinette to her crush. “Want one too? I’m sure Marinette doesn’t mind sharing the work-place love.”

Adrien smiled politely. “How about a rain check? I’ve got loads more work I need to get through before the end of the day. I only stopped in to get a caffeine fix.”

“The struggles of a high-end reporter,” Alya teased. “Always working on the next story. Your last one was good, by the way. The latest Ladybug one.”

“Thanks,” he said. The Keurig whirred behind him. “It took a while, but I was eventually happy with it. Did you read it yet, Marinette?”

She nodded somewhat timidly. “Yeah, I did. It was great like always. You have an excellent handle on adjectives and your diction is—” _besotted, enamored, infatuated, **blind** “—_inspiring. You’ll certainly please a lot of readers.”

“I don’t just want to please them,” he said. “I want to inform all of Paris about Ladybug’s exploits. She deserves the gratitude of the entire city for the things she does for us. For the first time in years we are _safe_.”

Marinette’s chest constricted.

“Well, keep up the good work,” Alya said, sipping her coffee.

Adrien grabbed his, freshly poured and steaming, and turned to the door. “I intend to. See you later, ladies!”

They mirrored the wave he gave them over his shoulder and went back to idle talking and chewing for the remainder of their break.

* * *

 

Halfway through the afternoon, two-thirds of the way into her article about up-coming spring fashions, Marinette hit a wall. Her words stopped coming, her fingers froze, her thoughts were blank.

She sat at her desk for twenty minutes, tapping the wood and bouncing her leg in frustration as she willed the piece to write itself. She flipped through a few magazines and old columns of hers to try and jumpstart the creative flow, but eventually she realized she was sufficiently staunched, and got up to get some air.

She forwent the elevator and took the stairs, climbing only two flights before she came upon the access door to the roof. She swiped her ID badge on the mechanical lock and it beeped and disengaged. With a shove, she pushed the door open and stepped into the bright, breezy sunlight only to find a figure already loitering on the roof. As her eyes adjusted to the light, the blonde hair and lean figure of Adrien came into focus and Marinette hesitated.

He noticed her out of the corner of his eye and turned to face her. “Hey Marinette. Taking a break?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Just thought I’d get some fresh air, but I don’t want to bother you, so I’ll just—”

“No, no, it’s alright,” he said as she made to leave. “I don’t mind. Why don’t you join me?”

“Sure,” she said, and strode to stand next to him.

There was a can of 7-Up in his hand and he brought it to his lips. He smiled amicably at her and then looked out over the horizon. The Parisian landscape shone with the glimmer of the mid-day. The buildings and landmarks were highlighted in the streets. The Eiffel Tower glowed magnificently in the forefront of the scene.

“Beautiful isn’t it?” Adrien said.

Her eyes lingered on his face for a second longer before she gazed out on her city. “Yes. It is.”

“Whenever I get stressed out or need to relax, I come up here,” he said wistfully. “One look at all this and everything just melts away, you know?”

She hummed in agreement.

“What’s your favourite part?” he asked.

She stared at him in confusion. “Huh?”

“Of Paris,” he clarified. “What do you like most about it? The Arc de Triumphe? The Louvre?”

She considered the question for a moment before coming to her reply. “The people,” she said.

His gaze slid to her and his lip quirked. “People, huh?  Not fashion?”

“Of course I love fashion too,” she said with a wry smile. “This is the style capitol of the world for Pete’s sake. But you asked me what I liked most and while the fashion is prestigious and the landmarks are ostentatious and world-renowned, my favourite part of Paris is the people.”

“And why is that?”

“Why not,” she grinned. “Everything that makes this city great –what makes every city great—is because of the people. Art, fashion, architecture, they all stem from people and their passions. Notre Dame didn’t just crop up from the ground, it was built from a human love of beauty and devotion to religion. There’s so much potential in people. Their desires and actions and choices make the world the way it is. So my favourite part of Paris is the people, because they created everything else.”

He looked impressed. “That’s a pretty good answer,” he said, his face morphing into a full-blown smirk. “But what about the Seine, smarty-pants. That’s not man-made.”

“You got me there,” she admitted, a laugh seeping into her voice.

He chuckled into his soda as he took another swig. As their laughter petered out, they settled into a comfortable silence. Adrien stared out at the landscape again, eyes fixed to the flowing river on the left.

“The Seine is my favourite,” he said. “My mom and I used to eat lunch beside it everyday. She’d pick me up from school armed with peanut butter sandwiches and we’d sit on the concrete, eat, and throw pebbles into the water. I loved watching the ripples spread across the surface, one ring after another growing bigger and bigger until they disappeared in the flow of the river.”

“It sounds nice,” Marinette said, eyes bright and mouth soft.

“It was,” he mused. And then his grin faded. “But then she left.”

An ache pulled at her chest. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he said, giving her a weak smile. “I don’t blame her. My dad’s one of those cold, withdrawn, married-to-their-work types. As soon as I was of age and could look after myself, I was gone too. I guess I just wish she had brought me with her. She left me with my father because he had all the money and she thought that he could provide for me better than she could, but I would have preferred being poor with her than staying with a man I called stranger more than father.”

“You deserved better,” she said before she could stop herself.

The breath Adrien let out was half scoff, half snicker. “Thanks, Marinette. I need to hear that sometimes.” He finished off his pop and tossed the empty can into a trash bin in the corner. An impressive shot. “It wasn’t all bad though, you know. Having a crap father sort of shows you how to be a good one. I’m excited to have a family of my own and be what my dad wasn’t.”

He turned to face her and their eyes caught. She could see all his hurt, all his loss, all his pain. But there, swimming along all his past suffering in those beautiful green eyes of his, was hope. As he continued to hold her gaze, she noticed a glimmer of something else as well. Her heart wrenched.

His watch beeped the hour.

He peered at the face and cringed. “I’ve been up here a while. I should get back to work.” He looked at her again and flashed her the most brilliant, pearly-white Adrien smile she’d ever seen. “Thanks for everything Marinette, I really appreciated you being here with me, even if it was just for a break. See you later.”

She managed to stutter out a mumbled reply as he retreated back into the building. When the access door closed shut, Marinette slumped with the weight of their conversation. It almost physically hurt to think that beneath the gentle, kind surface of Adrien Agreste was a lonely child hurt and abandoned by neglectful and absent parents. Her gut roiled uncomfortably at the despondent face he had worn as he looked out on the Seine and even though he had perked back up, the expression was imbedded in her mind. She resolved to replace it.

* * *

 

She hadn’t followed him, but she couldn’t exactly say she hadn’t searched him out either. They’d gone their separate ways when their shifts ended, waving goodbye and uttering pleasantries, but then the sun began to set and she’d transformed. A small voice in the back of her mind told her this was a trivial reason to dawn the mask, that she risked getting spotted or caught, but then she imagined a phantom smile taking over Adrien’s gloom and all reason went out the window.

Well, perhaps not _all_ reason, for she did keep the sense to stick to rooftops as she searched the streets for the blonde. She flew between buildings, scanning the sidewalks and parks, but came up empty until she caught the glare of a glass amidst the leaves of a tree by the waterfront. With a quick diversion of her course, she flung herself into the foliage of a neighboring maple. Her momentum nearly made her tumble right off the bough, but she recovered her balance and clung to the branch above her head to keep her steady.

Across the path and through the leaves, Adrien sat high in the tree, legs dangling on either side of the limb he rested on. His camera was looped around his neck and pressed to his eye as he took photos of the sun setting over the Seine. It was a serine image, with the breeze gently rustling the leaves and the sunlight bathing everything in a warm, orange glow. Her breathing slowed at the peace of it all.

But the peace was quickly shattered.

Adrien started to shift from his perch, perhaps trying to get a new angle for his shot, and his balance fumbled. He lurched forward and managed to grab hold of his branch to steady himself, but the motion sent his camera flying off his neck, hurdling toward the ground.

Her fast reflexes acted before her brain and she hurled her yoyo forward. The string caught on the strap of the camera and the dotted body of her yoyo wound round it securely. With a yank, she hauled the equipment from its trajectory with the ground and caught it squarely in her hand. She turned it over in her hand, inspecting it for scratches or dents. She heaved a sigh of relief when she found none.

Lifting her head up, she met Adrien’s wide-eyed gaze from across the path. He appeared frozen, still clinging to the tree as he gaped dumbly at the superhero. His jaw was slack and he looked like he was about to pass out any second.

For a moment Ladybug was equally paralyzed. Though she swung between buildings and skulked on rooftops, it was unconventional for her to be hiding in a tree. Surely he thought it was strange. But he seemed too stunned to look abhorred and it was doubtful that the idea of her stalking him had crossed his mind, so she leapt off her branch with all the grace that came with her powers and sauntered over to him.

He looked down in amazement as she neared his tree, as if he thought he was dreaming. Ladybug channeled the meager amount of charm she had in her and lifted up the camera. “I think you dropped this.”

He sputtered. It was the first time she ever saw him so flustered. “Y-yeah. Thanks for the quick save!”

He reached for the strap but Ladybug pulled it back. “You might want to come down first,” she said.

“Oh,” he chuckled nervously. “Right.”

He scooched back on the limb until he was at the trunk. From there, he swung his legs to one side of the branch and tiptoed onto the one underneath. Repeating this, he was on the ground in less than a minute. He straightened his back as he regarded her and ran a hand through his hair anxiously. He was quiet for a while, simply shifting on his feet and watching her shyly as if he forgot what was happening.

Finally, Ladybug dangled the camera in front of him and he snapped back to reality. “Oh yeah,” he said with a blush and took the camera back by the strap. “Uh, thanks again. You really saved me.”

“I bet,” she said with a grin. “I hear cameras are expensive equipment.”

“You have no idea,” he smiled bashfully, missing the amused glint in Ladybug’s eyes.

She watched him loop the strap around his neck and adjust it so the camera rested on his chest before asking, “So what were you up there for anyway?”

“Oh,” he said, surprised you struck up conversation so willingly. A flush came to his cheeks once more. “I was taking some pictures.”

“In a tree?”

“The angle’s better up there,” he murmured, turning back to look at the scenery. “I just wanted to get the perfect shot.”

“The struggle of a great photographer,” she teased.

“Oh, I’m not a photographer,” he said. “I’m a journalist.”

“I see. So what kind of article requires such a specific shot of the Seine?”

“It’s not for an article,” he said. “I just wanted it for myself.”

“Have some space on your wall to fill?”

His smile turned rueful. “In a way.”

“Well that’s cryptic,” she smirked.

“It’s personal.”

“Hey, I get it,” She said with a casual shrug. “Everyone’s entitled to their own secrets. I wouldn’t want to answer to a stranger in a mask either. Well, sorry to interrupt you. I’ll let you get back to your photography.”

She turned to leave, arm poised to sling her yoyo up and around the chimney of the closest building, but Adrien called out.

“Wait!”

She turned back, glancing slyly at him over his shoulder. “Yes?”

His face resembled the sunset. “Could I… that is, would you mind if I, um… interviewed you?”

Ladybug fought back a giggle. This Adrien was so awkward. Adorable. “Interview?”

“Well, like I said, I’m a journalist… and I’m also a big fan. It’d really mean a lot to me if you would answer a few questions.”

“Well I _was_ going to save Paris tonight,” she said, sending a playful glance through her eyelashes, “but since you’re such a _big fan_ , how can I say no?”

“If you have something more important to do, don’t worry about it,” he blurted quickly. “I mean the safety of Paris is obviously priority to a silly little interview, I shouldn’t have—”

“I was joking.” She laughed. “Do you want the interview or not?”

His ears burned. “Yes please.”

“Okay then,” she said, a little too pleased with herself. “Bench or tree?”

“Actually,” he said, running a hand through his hair nervously again, “I was thinking we could go somewhere a little more private.”

She smirked at that, but let it slide. “What did you have in mind?”

“There’s this place I know a few blocks from here,” he said, eyes bright with excitement. “It’s quiet, scenic, and has the best croissants in Paris.”

“Oh?” she said with a wild grin. “I have a friend whose family owns a bakery and they have the most delicious croissants I’ve ever had. You think yours can compare?”

His blush was slowly receding. A soft smile took its place. “Guess we’ll find out.”

She returned it. “Guess so.” With a flourish, Ladybug launched her yoyo across the sky, hooking it around a chimney stack. She turned to Adrien and offered a hand. “Need a lift?”

His cheeks quickly turned pink again. “Well I was going to walk, but someone’s got to give you directions.”

He took her hand gently, flushing vermillion. She grinned at him and grasped his fingers firmly, revelling in the warmth before she pulled him to her. He reacted instantly, pulling back immediately out of embarrassment, but she tugged him back.

“You’re going to have to hold me tightly,” she said. “You _really_ don’t want to fall at these heights.”

“Noted,” he said and slowly snaked a hand around her waist, pressing them together.

It was impossible to say who blushed redder. They were so flush against one another that she could feel the nervous twitching of his muscles and feel his chest expand and contract with every breath. His body heat soaked through her spotted super-suit. It all felt so… intimate.

She chanced a glance at him and their eyes locked. His gaze was almost glassy as he watched her with marvel and what she guessed was adoration. His breathing was labored, as if he was consciously trying to keep it even, and the hot air he expelled fanned over her neck, making her hair stand on end. She took a small moment to revel in the fact that she was the one to reduce Adrien to this smitten, weak-kneed boy. The fact that she had such an effect on him effectively stroked her ego and boosted her confidence.

“I’m Adrien by the way,” he said, the timbre of his voice rumbling into her chest. “Adrien Agreste.”

She strengthened her hold on him and nearly whispered _I know_. “Alright then, Adrien,” she said. “Hold on!” And with that, she launched them both into the evening.

* * *

 

His directions led her to a building that looked suspiciously _not_ like a patisserie. 

The sheer size of it alone was more like grand hotel than a bakery. Heck, it was a _mansion._ Windows upon windows, towering spires, an impressive gate spanning the property, an enormous staircase leading to the grand mahogany mouth of the beast of the place. There was a balcony just like he said, but it was accompanied by neighbors dotting the exterior walls. He instructed her to land on the lone one on the eastern outcropping.

She set down lightly with as much grace as she was renowned and released her grip on Adrien. He retracted his hands after a moment’s hesitation and they stepped apart.

“Doesn’t look like much of a bakery,” Ladybug commented. “You sure about these croissants?”

“Positive,” he said. Going to the glass doors, he pulled out a key and turned the lock. Taking the handles, he threw the doors open. “Welcome to chez Agreste.”

She broke out into a peel of laughter. “You brought me home?” Still giggling, she surveyed the room. It was comprised of white marble and accented with gold along the trimmings. There was a chaise lounge off to the side, as well as a cabriole and a crystal decanter and tumblers on an ebony table. There was a wardrobe along the far wall that looked to be bubinga or dalbergia or _something_ expensive. Beside it, made of a similar wood, was a grand four-poster, dressed in what she could only assume were fine silk sheets and a luxurious duvet.

Her laughter doubled. “You brought me to your _bedroom?_ ”

The poor boy blushed red from his ears to his neck. “Too forward?”

She almost snorted. “No, it’s okay,” she said between gasps, trying to reign in her breath. “I like it.”

When he didn’t reply, she strode past him and sat on the lounge. It was probably the most comfortable thing her butt had ever been on. Reaching forward, she plucked one of the tumblers from the table and rotated it in her hand, gazing at the textures of the glass and the designs etched on the surface. She set it down carefully and looked back at Adrien. “This is quite the place you have.”

“Thanks,” he said. He didn’t move to sit next to her. “It actually used to be my father’s. He moved into another house closer to the city center a while ago. He just couldn’t live here anymore. Too many ghosts, too many bad memories.”

“So why’d you stay?” she asked.

He graced her with the gentlest smile. “Because there were good memories too.”

She grinned at the reply, but could see the pain lurking in the lines in his brow. She changed the subject. “So where are those croissants you promised me?”

“Oh yeah!” he said. “Just one second.”

Adrien walked towards what appeared to be an intercom on the wall. A dial tone sounded as soon as his finger hit a silver button on the top and a man answered on the second ring. “Yes, Mr. Agreste?”

“Hey Francois, how’s it going? I was wondering if you would do me a favor and whip up those delicious croissants of yours. I’m having a craving.”

The man chuckled. “You and your strange evening snacks. Whatever you say, Mr. Agreste, I’ll have them sent up as soon as they’re done.”

“You’re the man, Francois! Thanks!” The line went dead and Adrien turned back to her. He beamed. “Won’t be too long. Prepare to have all other croissants ruined for you.”

“You’re awfully proud of this baker of yours,” she said.

“Yeah,” he said, finally coming to sit on the other end of the chaise lounge. “Francois has been the household chef since before I can remember. I don’t think I’ve ever had one bad meal from him. He’s the best.”

“He didn’t go with your father?”

He shook his head. “No, he let him stay here with me. Said Francois’ food wasn’t up to his standards, but I think he just wanted me to have a friend in the house… someone I was used to who would look after me.”

“That sounds considerate,” she said.

“I suppose,” he said, his mouth pulling tight into a half-grimace. “Part of me knows he just did it to satisfy his guilt about leaving me alone again, but I won’t look a gift horse in the mouth. I’m happy Francois is here with me.” He brightened considerably and shifted on the chaise. “Now enough about me. I want to know about you.”

She watched as he reached deep into his pant pocket and dug out a pen and a slightly crumpled notebook. “Alright,” she said, “but before I answer any of your questions, I have a few conditions.”

“Fair enough,” he said.

“You can’t ask me about my true identity,” she began, marking the changes in his features at her words. “Additionally, I don’t have to answer any question I’m not comfortable with.”

“Of course,” he said, offering one of his gentle smiles. “The last thing I want you to be is uncomfortable.”

“Good. I also want you to include in your article that by no means should people try to do what I do or go near me. Just because I agreed to this interview does not mean I am willing to socialize with civilians.” She held his gaze strongly. “I am not a safe person.”

He nodded too quickly. “Whatever you want.”

She frowned. “I mean it.”

“So do I,” he said. “You have no idea how grateful I am that you agreed to an interview in the first place. I’d be happy if you answered even one question, let alone a list of them. So if you want it in the article, it’s going in the article.”

Ladybug leaned back in her seat. A pleased grin set on her lips and she crossed her legs. “Okay then, that’s all settled. Ask away.”

“Great,” he said, eyes glistening with excitement. As he flipped to a blank page in his notebook, he switched into journalist mode, all professional interest… with a hint of Adrien curiosity. Pen at the ready, he began. “Why did you chose to protect Paris?”

“It needed protecting.”

He looked up from writing mid-sentence to peer at her shit-eating grin. “How elaborate.”

“Are you complaining?” she smirked.

“No, I was just hoping for something more. Were you born here? Did you notice it was in danger and fly over from another city?”

“I don’t fly.”

“Oh?” he raised an eyebrow as he jotted the information down. “It certainly looks like you do the way you soar through the sky.”

“I swing and launch myself using my yoyo,” she held it up for emphasis. “I brought you here with it, you should know.”

He chuckled nervously. “I thought you just used it to freak me out. I didn’t know you used it all the time.”

“I do.”

“So Ladybug can’t fly,” he surmised. “Ironic.”

“Wasn’t my decision,” she admitted with a shrug.

“The decision not to fly or the decision to be Ladybug?” he asked.

“Both,” she said.

“So you’re not an alien then?” he asked, mouth quirking mischievously.

She smiled. “Not an alien.”

“Care to tell me how you got your powers then?”

“Not much to tell. I didn’t have them and then one day I did. Was kind of a relief actually. I had the worst luck. It was nice to have a few good things come my way.”

He scribbled furiously. “So you just woke up lucky?”

The black box flashed in Ladybug’s mind, but she said, “Yes.”

“And what about the yoyo?” he asked. “Did that magically appear too?”

“Yeah, it comes when I need it.”

“Mmhmm,” he hummed as he wrote. “What about your suit?”

“Same deal.”

“Does it have any special powers? Make you faster or stronger?”

“No, that all came with the luck.”

“Does it shield you?”

The laugh she let out was bitter. “I wish.”

He stopped and looked at her. “So you’ve gotten hurt protecting the city?”

“Well yeah,” she said with a rueful grin. “I’m not invulnerable, Adrien. But don’t tell anyone.”

He seemed dazed. “I won’t,” he said, monotone. His pen lay still in his hand and he stayed quiet for a moment. “So…” he said eventually, “so how badly have you been hurt?”

Her face fell. “Adrien…”

“I won’t write about this either it’s…” Was his voice shaking? “I just need to know.”

She dropped her gaze into her lap, suddenly self-conscious. “Nothing big,” she said. “Cuts, bruises, scrapes… a broken bone or two.”

The plastic case of the pen in his hand bent in his grip. “How long did they take to recover.”

“I don’t know,” she said, trying to keep her tone casual. “The normal amount. Bruises faded, bones repaired, cuts turned to scars. Everything healed eventually. I survive.”

“You have scars?” he said. She couldn’t tell if he was surprised or angry.

“Of course I do.”

“Can you show me?”

Her head snapped up and she stared at him in surprise. His head was ducked and his face was red again, but he was meeting her eyes steadily. There was pain and sadness in his expression and she was floored with the realization that he was feeling _for her_. She never had the time to care about the ache in her muscles or the throbbing of her wounds. She healed just fine. So long as she could continue living on and helping the people of Paris, she would take all the pain in the world.

And that hurt Adrien.

Ladybug was struck silent. She could do nothing but gaze at the need in his eyes, the desire he had to see her scars, to take the pain she had absorbed over the years and feel it for her. He wanted to take it from her, to process it and let it go.

And suddenly she wanted it gone too.

Adrien watched carefully as she slowly turned around on the chaise lounge so her back faced him. Reaching up to the back of her neck, Ladybug undid the clasp at her collar and pulled at the zipper until it was at her lower vertebrae. She brushed the sides of her suit out of the way to reveal the marred expanse of her back.

She heard a sharp intake of breath from Adrien as he saw the mess of scars. There were at least a dozen marks along her skin, ranging in size and shape. She peered at him over her shoulder and her heart plummeted at the look of absolute horror on his face. His eyes darted from one scar to the next and she could see him imagine the pain each one caused her. She didn’t have the heart to tell him that this wasn’t all of them.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice nearly a whisper.

“You didn’t do this.”

“You got them protecting us.” He inched closer. “May I touch them?”

Her face grew warm. She looked away. “Sure.”

The anticipation of his touch made her jump when the pad of his finger brushed against her skin.

“Sorry!” he yelped, yanking his hand back.

“It’s okay,” she said, her cheeks on fire. “Your hands are cold, that’s all. It’s fine, go ahead.”

He didn’t hesitate as much this time and his finger went back to trailing the particularly nasty scar by her shoulder lade that had been left by a vindictive thief with excellent knife-throwing abilities. He traced the ruined flesh gently before moving along her skin to the next scar. His other hand crept to join the first, smoothing over her old wounds.

“These must have hurt so much,” he said, mystified. “You’re so brave.”

She tried to tell him she wasn’t, but her mouth had gone dry.

“You’re so good,” he said, brushing over a burn mark. “You give so much to keep everyone safe.” He followed the length of a brutal slash. “Fighting bad guys on your own.” He caressed the mark left by a grazed bullet. “You must be so scared.” A claw mark. “You’re so courageous.” Another burn. “You’re so strong.” A stiletto gash. “You’re miraculous.”

She felt him leaning forward one second, and then his lips the next, pressed onto a vertical slash down the side of her spine. He murmured into her skin. “We don’t deserve you.”  

Shivers wracked up and down her back as he moved on to kiss all of her scars. Each touch was gentle and torturous at the same time. Her body was aflame and soothed with every press of his lips. He was trying to mend her, and he was succeeding, but he was also breaking her. She tried to remember that voice in her head that had told her time and time again not to succumb to the desire to be with Adrien, but she couldn’t remember the reasons why anymore. Her mind was full of the marvels he was laving her with. Clouds filled her head.

And so when his hands moved around her front to pull her into an embrace, she let them, and when his mouth moved up her spine, she relished it. She was lost in pleasant sensations and reduced to putty.

His thumbs stroked her still-covered stomach tenderly. His lips continued to pepper kisses at her neck. With one hand, he untied her hair and brushed it to the side to gain access to her ear. He kissed the junction and hummed when she let out a breath.

“So beautiful,” he mumbled. “You’re perfect.”

Perfect.

 _Perfect_.

The word jolted her back into her mind and she stiffened.

“I love you,” he said.

 _No_.

She bolted to her feet and zipped up her suit. “That’s enough.”

“What?” Adrien asked, confused. “Did I do something wrong?”

“You don’t know me,” she said, heading for the balcony.

He got up and followed her. “What are you talking about?”

“You don’t know me,” she repeated, turning around to glare at him.

“Of course I know you. You’re Ladybug. You protect Paris. You save lives. We just told me everything about you on couch minutes ago, how can you say I don’t know you?”

She stared at him. His eyes were imploring, trying to understand and failing to do so. How could he think that was everything? He didn’t get it. He only knew the surface. He only saw the good. He only saw perfection. He didn’t know Marinette. And so he didn’t know Ladybug.

There was a knock on the door behind them and a voice that said the croissants had arrived, but Adrien ignored it.

“What’s my favourite colour?” she asked.

He looked her dead in the eye. “Green.”

She frowned. “How did--?”

He gave an odd grin. “Because I know you.”

“What’s my name?”

“A name isn’t who you are.”

“The woman attached to it is,” she said. “And she isn’t Ladybug.”

“Of course she is,” he said. “She’s you, isn’t she?”

A second knock on the door filled her silence. “Mr. Agreste?”

“Be right there, Maria!” he yelled back. “Maria’s my housekeeper,” he explained with a strained smile. “Sure you didn’t want that croissant?”

“Maybe for the road,” she said, turning the handle of the balcony door.

He shook his head. “Sorry, we don’t do takeout. You’ll have to settle for a rain check.”

Her face was solemn. “Remember what I said. It’s not safe to be around me. Put it in your article.”

His mouth quirked. “Just because it’s going in my article doesn’t mean I’ll listen to it.”

“You should,” she said, taking out her yoyo and hurling it around a neighbor’s chimney. “Unless you want to look like my back.”

“Wait,” he said firmly. She pivoted to look at him. “I’m going to find out what your name is. And when I do, I want you to have those croissants with me.”

“You mean if you do.”

“No I don’t.”

She sighed. “Fine.”

“Good, it’s a date,” he said with a smirk. It faded quickly. “One more thing. You have to be careful. No more foolishly putting yourself in harms way. Find something to protect yourself with. I don’t want to see a single cut next time I see you. Got it?”

“I don’t get hurt on purpose.”

“Just tell me you’ll try. Please. I don’t like seeing you hurt.”

Her shoulders slumped. “Yeah, okay, I’ll try.”

“Thank you,” he smiled. He stepped closer. “Can I kiss you?”

She gave a wry grin. “You already did.”

“I meant your lips.”

“I know what you meant.”

“Another rain check then. Gives me extra incentive to learn your name.”

She stared at him. “You’ve gotten bold.”

He chuckled. “You made me bold. I can’t go back now.”

Their gazes remained locked for a while longer before Ladybug wrenched hers away.

“I need to go,” she said.

“I understand. Be careful out there, okay.”

“I will.”

He brought his fingers to his lips and blew her a kiss. “I look forward to our date, what’s-your-name.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Poor Maria. Perpetually waiting outside the door with a platter of croissants.


End file.
